A/N: OK, so it’s been a while since I’ve written anything for POM, and even though the montrer ended, I still l’amour the Slash pairing pripper, so here it goes. I hope toi enjoy. (PS. I was going to post this on fanfiction.net instead, but somethng happened and it screwed with my computer, so, I didn't.)
“Skippaaaah!” Private’s normally chip and cheery British accent was broken, and sounded plus like high pitched whine than an actual name, “Come take care of meeeeee, Skippaaaaaaah!”
“Urgh.” His lover growled from under his covers, covering his head with a oreiller to try to drown out the annoying voice of his boyfriend. A sound that he would hear that brought happiness to his world would be the death of him, and Private too if he didn’t shut up.
For a short moment all was quiet again, and Skipper closed his eyes contently as he breathed a sigh of relief, happy that his ordeal was ove –
“PLEEEEEEEAAAAAASSSSE!” – yeah, never mind.
He growled as he got to his feet, stomping over to where his mate lay in the bottom bunk, looking pale, with his eyes shut, and his blonde hair ruffled so that it looked like an unruly mess.
“Skippaaaaah…”
“Godamnit, Private, WHAT?” Skipper snapped.
“…I feel siiiiiick.” with his eyes still shut and his head still fuzzy, he reached out a hand and pointlessly rubbed it against the others face.
“…Private, I swear to God, if toi don’t stop that, I will throw toi off that bed, take all of your sheets away, and leave toi there on the floor, sick, cold, and lonely.” Skipper hissed as he slapped Private’s hand away.
Normally, sentences like that one would normally strike a nerve on the younger soldiers behave, but in this case, he didn’t mind, probably because of his high fever and lack of focus at the moment.
Instead of crying, he smiled dumbly as he sat up, hugging his partner tightly and nuzzling him.
Skipper felt heat slowly creep along his face, and before long, he knew he was blushing.
“P-Private, get off, yo-you’re going to get me sick too…” but instead of letting go, his grip tightened, and he proceeded to emballage, wrap Skipper’s arms around his waist, pulling himself in as he rested his chin on his neck.
For a moment, Skipper forgot about Private having the flue, and bugging him about it, he was reminded that they fit together, almost like a puzzle piece…
“Skippaaaah!” Private’s normally chip and cheery British accent was broken, and sounded plus like high pitched whine than an actual name, “Come take care of meeeeee, Skippaaaaaaah!”
“Urgh.” His lover growled from under his covers, covering his head with a oreiller to try to drown out the annoying voice of his boyfriend. A sound that he would hear that brought happiness to his world would be the death of him, and Private too if he didn’t shut up.
For a short moment all was quiet again, and Skipper closed his eyes contently as he breathed a sigh of relief, happy that his ordeal was ove –
“PLEEEEEEEAAAAAASSSSE!” – yeah, never mind.
He growled as he got to his feet, stomping over to where his mate lay in the bottom bunk, looking pale, with his eyes shut, and his blonde hair ruffled so that it looked like an unruly mess.
“Skippaaaaah…”
“Godamnit, Private, WHAT?” Skipper snapped.
“…I feel siiiiiick.” with his eyes still shut and his head still fuzzy, he reached out a hand and pointlessly rubbed it against the others face.
“…Private, I swear to God, if toi don’t stop that, I will throw toi off that bed, take all of your sheets away, and leave toi there on the floor, sick, cold, and lonely.” Skipper hissed as he slapped Private’s hand away.
Normally, sentences like that one would normally strike a nerve on the younger soldiers behave, but in this case, he didn’t mind, probably because of his high fever and lack of focus at the moment.
Instead of crying, he smiled dumbly as he sat up, hugging his partner tightly and nuzzling him.
Skipper felt heat slowly creep along his face, and before long, he knew he was blushing.
“P-Private, get off, yo-you’re going to get me sick too…” but instead of letting go, his grip tightened, and he proceeded to emballage, wrap Skipper’s arms around his waist, pulling himself in as he rested his chin on his neck.
For a moment, Skipper forgot about Private having the flue, and bugging him about it, he was reminded that they fit together, almost like a puzzle piece…
